


Sincerity of Feeling

by bafflinghaze



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Fleur, F/F, Fake Dating, Hogwarts Fourth Year, Yule Ball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 18:32:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17105939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bafflinghaze/pseuds/bafflinghaze
Summary: “No, I am going to the Yule Ball with the brightest wix in Hogwarts.”The boy blanched. “A witch?”“I thought you hated Granger,” said one of the others.Fleur grabbed the inspiration. “That is correct. I am going to the Yule Ball with Hermione Granger. Now run along, you little boys.” She flipped back her hair and strode past them, and this time, stopped for none.





	Sincerity of Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by this artwork [Fleur x Hermione - Never Let You Know](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17002023) by [nosignofwings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nosignofwings/pseuds/nosignofwings)

**Fleur** glared unrepentantly at the Hogwarts _boys_ in front of her. The constant interruptions had been annoying when Fleur first arrived at Hogwarts, but since the announcement of the Yule Ball, Fleur could barely take a step before being accosted by yet _another_ unknown boy asking her to the ball.

“I don’t _know_ you,” she seethed. She looked over him in distaste. “You do not even care for your own appearance. I would not trust to take you to the Ball.” She curled her lip and pushed past him and his group of friends.

Her expression darkened further when she heard the boys mutter _bitch_ at her back. She turned back around, snarling, “If you cannot respect women, I shall hope you _never_ have the opportunity to touch a woman!”

“What the fuck?” one of the boys said sharply.

“Ugh, ignore her,” said another. “She’s probably queer.”

Fleur narrowed her eyes. “And what if I am?” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “Don’t you think that says more about _you_ than me? That your personality is so weak that you must blame your failures on the woman?”

In the next beat, Fleur whipped around again, annoyed that she had let them distract her. She ignored the group’s words and continued towards the Library. The unfortunate side of living in the carriages was their utter lack of the centuries-old libraries of Beauxbaton. The Hogwarts Library was much too English-centric, but it would have to do.

She had only made it to the next corridor when yet cluster of Hogwarts boys came up to her. The tallest of them, the biggest of them, was at the front with a bouquet of roses.

“Miss Fleur Delacour,” the boy said, smiling widely. “Would you do the honour of going to the ball with me?”

“No!” Fleur snapped. “I don’t even know your name! And what can _you_ offer me? Are you intelligent to hold words with me? Or can you fly well enough to keep up with me? Can you defeat a dragon if backed up against a wall?”

The boy’s expression darkened for a moment, and then he smirked. “I can fight _you_ , if that’s what you wish.”

“Therefore, none of the above,” Fleur said. “No, I am going to the Yule Ball with the brightest wix in Hogwarts.”

The boy blanched. “A witch?”

“I thought you hated Granger,” said one of the others.

Fleur grabbed the inspiration. “That is correct. I am going to the Yule Ball with Hermione Granger. Now run along, you little boys.” She flipped back her hair and strode past them, and this time, stopped for none until she reached the Hogwarts Library.

She nodded at Madame Pince, and continued deeper to the advanced texts.

*

 **Hermione** sighed and closed the book.

After visiting the house-elves, she just _couldn’t_ get their plight out of her head.

Ron didn’t understand _anything_ , being a white wizard that he was. And Harry—Harry saw that the house-elves _appeared_ happy with their situation and could only shrug.

But it didn’t feel right to Hermione. And it didn’t help that Hermione was aware, at the back of her mind, the slavery of her own ancestors to white folk.

House-elves weren’t the _same_ , of course, but Hermione really needed to get a grasp of house-elf history. But so far, she had gotten only a handful of mentions of house-elves, and nothing more.

Hermione put the book back, and headed deeper into the Library, in search for a section that might give her more information. A hint of blue caught her eye, and Hermione tried to dart away and avoid talking to anyone else, and ended up stumbling over her own feet.

“Ah! Hermione Granger!” Hands reached out to steady her.

Hermione’s mood darkened. “Fleur Delacour,” she said, her voice pitched high in over-politeness. She took a half-step away from Fleur.

Fleur’s lips tightened, and she meet Hermione’s gaze head-on. “I need your assistance.”

Hermione’s eyes widened, and then immediately narrowed. “What do you mean? You don’t need help from me. You’re oh-so pretty and smart and strong and good at everything and everyone!”

Fleur snorted. “Do you hate me, Hermione Granger? I have done nothing to offend you.”

“You have!” Hermione snapped. “There’s nothing wrong about Hogwarts! The food here is _fine!_ The weather is _fine!_ It’s all _fine!_ ”

Fleur raised an eyebrow. “ _Fine_? You do not say _good_ , or _great_? Allow me to take you Paris for a day.”

“Well—” Hermione spluttered. “I bet you say that to all the boys! You just walk around like—like—”

“Do you begrudge me for being veela?” Fleur suddenly said. “I cannot control my heritage anymore than you can control yours.”

Hermione was rendered speechless.

“However, I am not here to fight you,” Fleur continued. “I need your assistance. A favour. Involving those boys, in fact.”

“See—!”

“I do not want to go with the Yule ball with any of them, so I proclaimed that I will be going with you, Hermione Granger.”

 _Boys not good enough for you?_ were the words on Hermione’s lips before she registered the second part of Fleur’s words.

“You....want... _me_?” Hermione tried to parse.

“You are the brightest wix in Hogwarts, are you not? I will not want to go with anyone lesser.”

Hermione scowled, even as she blushed. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Fleur shrugged. “It is not flattery if it is true. Hermione Granger, _please_ , a favour. It is not about loving each other. Only that you accompany me to the Yule Ball and dance—just once. And I will do any task you wish of me that is equivalent to your efforts in fulfilling my favour.”

Hermione hesitated.

“Unless there is someone else you are going with,” Fleur said. “If so, then the schools shall know that you rejected me.”

Hermione scowled on both accounts. Certain _people_ had been moaning about the Yule ball and dates without ever thinking about Hermione. And Hermione didn’t like the idea of rumours of her being the one to reject Fleur Delacour.

“Fine,” she said grudgingly. “I will go with you. But you better not insult whatever I wear.”

“Why would I?” Fleur said, confused. “We will be going shopping together to ensure that we match. Since it is a favour, I will cover all costs.”

“Fine,” Hermione said again. “Contact me when you want to do that. Unless there’s anything else, I am busy.”

“Very well, I will see you then,” Fleur said.

Hermione walked away first, as far away from Fleur as she could, adrenaline from the encounter rushing through her ears.

When she was far enough, Hermione peered at the dusty History of Magic books, trying to spot a title that would be promising. She stiffened when she heard footsteps, and from the hint of blue from the corner of her eye, she knew it was Fleur.

Hermione glared at the books, and took out a random one to skim. But she was hyperaware that Fleur was further down the aisle, and was looking at books there too.

But Fleur said nothing.

Curiousity overcame Hermione, and she turned to Fleur, who was methodically taking out book after book to add to her floating pile. That made Hermione even _more_ curious.

“What are you doing?”

Fleur turned to her. “These books are for my study,” she said. She nodded at Hermione. “And what are you doing?”

“I’m trying to find out about house-elves,” Hermione admitted. “But there’s virtually nothing written about them, and certainly nothing written _by_ them.”

“Do you not like house-elves?” Fleur asked. “They have not done anything wrong, have they? Aside from cooking English food.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Don’t you see they’re basically _slaves_?”

Fleur’s brows pinched together. “In history, they say that house-elves are like the guardians of the home. They are to observe and protect.”

“And what about cooking and cleaning for _nothing_?” Hermione said sharply.

“It is not for nothing,” Fleur countered. “In Beauxbaton chateau, the elves are returned with gifts of magic and—ah—milk of the moonlight. The elves sustain the chateau and the lands, the lands sustain the elves.”

“Do you mean milk from _mooncalves_?”

“No. Perhaps essence of the moonlight. Moonlight is distilled into liquid form. Once, long ago, one would leave out saucers of such moonlight milk in payment for the elves’ work during the night. It is a concentrated form of magic.”

“So, _before_ , they were doing it freely. But now, they’re stuck in Hogwarts, or Beauxbaton, all day and night working for us.” Hermione frowned.

“In return for magic,” Fleur nodded.

“Yeah, right, _magic_ , and not galleons.”

Fleur shook her head with a knowing smile. “Hermione Granger, the house-elves do not subscribe to the concept of _money_. They have no need nor want for gold of humans and goblins.”

“Oh.” Hermione’s head dipped down as she thought about it. Maybe Fleur was right, but… “That doesn’t explain the house-elves punishing themselves when they do something ‘wrong’.”

“Ah. This practice, that is not so good. But the Hogwarts Elves, they are not forced to hurt themselves, are they?”

Grudgingly, Hermione shook her head. She didn’t want to be so grudging, but somehow, Fleur forced those emotions and actions out of her.

Fleur closed her eyes for a moment, and book appeared in front of her. She handed it to Hermione. “Perhaps this will aid you. All the best, for I must return to my studies.”

Hermione glanced over the book title. _Homely House-Elves and how to Honour Their Employment_. Flipping through the inside, it appeared to be _exactly_ what Hermione wanted. She glanced back to where Fleur had stood before and wondered if—

Hermione firmly stopped that thought and returned to her desk to read.

*

 **Fleur** strode through the corridors of Hogwarts towards the Great Hall for dinner with her head held high. Word of her partner for the ball had spread quickly, it appeared, as no more students accousted her. Instead, they stood against the wall gossiping.

She didn’t care.

Her friends were at the Ravenclaw table, and they made space for her on the ridiculously long bench.

“ _What is this about your Hogwarts date?_ ” Amira asked in French.

Fleur smirked when all her other friends fixed their gaze on her. “ _Alas, the rumours are true for once. I have asked_ Hermione Granger _to accompany me_.”

“ _The one with_ Harry Potter _?_ ” Alexandre turned to look at the Gryffindor table. “ _She is there, her head buried in a book_.”

“ _That looks like one of your books_ ,” Marie commented.

“ _It is_ ,” Fleur said. “ _She is interested in house-elves. The Hogwarts Library is lacking, of course_.”

“ _Of course_ ,” Amira repeated, rolling her eyes. “ _Now, eat, Fleur. All this business of the ball is making me hungry_.”

Fleur had a pleasant dinner, but the last cheese course was unfortunately interrupted by Hermione Granger.

Amira smirked and shifted aside to make room for Hermione.

“Welcome,” Amira said.

“Hi,” Hermione said shortly, but her gaze remained on Fleur. “They don’t believe me.”

Fleur glanced back at Harry Potter and his other friends. “What is it that they do not believe?”

“That you asked me to the ball.”

Fleur smiled. “Ah, but I did.”

Hermione scowled, her magic rolling pleasantly against Fleur’s skin. “Ron thinks I’m just trying to get attention. That neither of us would go with another _girl_.”

Amira’s eyebrows shot up. “This Ron is your friend?” she asked, horrified.

Hermione glanced quickly to Amira. “Oh—he’s—I—”

Fleur’s lips tightened a tad. It was clear that Hermione had some sort of feelings for Ron. “Did he insult you about your being?”

Hermione’s darting eyes was enough of an answer.

“Take a seat,” Fleur said, shifting aside herself. “We are about to have our cheese course.”

“But Hogwarts doesn’t _serve_ a cheese course,” Hermione immediately said, even as her eyes turned to the table.

“It does now,” Fleur said firmly.

“The house-elves are happy to do so,” Amira said. “It is not fair, if we cannot have foods like of home.”

Hermione glanced back, then gingerly sat between Fleur and Amira. “Are they _really_ willing?” she asked.

Fleur let Amira answer, while she prepared up the cheese and crackers for herself and for Hermione. Fleur allowed herself a smile when Hermione absentmindedly accepted the prepared food, as deep in concentration with her conversation with Amira as she was.

Across the table, Marie and Alexandre had matching smirks.

“ _I didn’t know you could serve food for anyone but your sister_ ,” Alexandre said. He glanced pointedly at Hermione. “ _But I can hear why._ ”

“ _Oh, shut up_ ,” Fleur said goodnaturedly.

Fleur was extremely amused when, even after dinner concluded, Hermione continued to stick with them as she continued her conversation with Amira—albeit having moved onto different topics from house-elves. She only _finally_ realised when they were right at the doors of one of the carriages.

“Er, am I _allowed_ inside?” Hermione said.

“Why not?” Fleur countered.

“Come on,” said Marie, who was holding the door open. “Do not let the cold inside.”

Fleur gave Hermione a slight push, and she capitulated, entering. Inside, the carriages were heftily expanded with wizarding space. There was an immediate foyer space, cream and gold and white. The main floor held the common spaces, and up the sweeping staircase were their suites.

Hermione’s eyes were wide. “How does this all _fit_?” she breathed. “How do the abraxans even _transport_ all of this?”

“This is nothing,” Fleur said. “Beauxbaton is much grander.”

“Beauxbaton is her basic standard,” Alexandre said, winking at Hermione. “It is why she complains so much, blah-blah-blah.”

“I should get back to my dorm,” Hermione said hesitantly.

“You are more than welcome to stay,” Fleur said. “Though perhaps it is too forward to invite you to my room.”

Fleur’s friends all snorted, and Hermione scowled.

Fleur capitulated. “Perhaps I shall accompany you back, for now. We may speak in private on the way.”

Hermione nodded, and they farewelled Fleur’s friends and entered back into the cold night.

As Fleur glanced at Hermione while they walked back to the castle, she could see the conflicted expressions on Hermione’s face.

“Speak freely,” Fleur prompted. “It is only us, there is no public face to uphold.” With a sidelong glance, Fleur added, “You did not like me, so don’t spare my feelings.”

“If you don’t _care_ about me, I _wouldn’t_ be able to hurt your feelings,” Hermione muttered.

“And that’s a skill that takes years of practice,” Fleur said drily. “You are lucky, to have your head in the books.”

Hermione glared. “I’m not _stupid!_ I know what people say about me. My teeth, my hair, my skin, my blood, _me_.”

Somberly, Fleur nodded her head. It was not the same as what people said about herself, but the same insult, the same malice, was there. “You will likely have to deal with that for the rest of your life.”

“And don’t I _know_ it?” Hermione snarled. She blinked, and reigned herself back. “Ron just _doesn’t_ understand. Sure, Malfoy insults his red hair, but it’s just _him_. Not _everyone_.”

Fleur nodded again. “It is said that if a man could walk a woman’s shoes for a day, then he would understand. But that is not so. Most of these pains are not so _clear_ as a fireball, but rather are like sharp needles that pick at your skin until there is nothing left.” Fleur tried not to smirk at Hermione’s sudden wide-eyed look.

“But people _like_ you.”

Fleur snorted. “Oh yes, they like _staring_ at me, and dreaming, until I tell them _no_. Since my asking of you, I have no more direct attempts. For that, I am thankful.”

Hermione shook her head, frowning.

Fleur let her think in peace. Anyway, they were approaching the Gryffindor tower, and Fleur rathered conversations in private.

“Two weeks before the ball,” Fleur said. “We will head to find suitable, matching robes.”

Hermione’s nod was absent minded, and Fleur farewelled her and left before she could hear their password, for that would not be fair.

Hermione _was_ a very bright witch, Fleur thought. A strong one, even. A few more years, and Hermione might have even been chosen as Hogwarts champion—she had a touch of ruthlessness that Fleur could admire.

If Hermione had been a Beauxbaton student, and they might have even dated properly.

Fleur nearly stumbled. Where had that thought come from? She firmly shook her head. All the talk of dating from her friends was jumbling her head, when she sorely needed it clear.

*

 **Hermione** didn’t understand Fleur. _I just don’t understand other girls_ , she thought to herself, even as she heard the ring of un-truth in her head.

She grimaced. She had thought Fleur to be vapid, arrogant, with her looks.

But Fleur _understood_. Fleur didn’t flinch of Hermione’s talk of fairness and inequality.

And Ron was _still_ angry at her for being asked by Fleur to the ball. Angry at her for _accepting_ , and therefore being—

 _I’m not gay_ , Hermione had wanted to say, but the words stuck at her teeth. Because she had suddenly realised—had she ever _thought_ about it? Or had she just _assumed_ she was straight?

Hermione had seen Harry’s flinch at Ron’s words and accusations as well, and Harry tried, in his way, to stop them from arguing. But Hermione was _not_ going to stand down.

And that led to her spending even _more_ time with Fleur and her friends.

It was so _good_ to to actually speak with them, to spend time with people who knew _more_ and were _willing_ to let her pester them with questions and were willing to give out answers.

Hermione knew that it made Ron angrier, and more sullen. She knew that Ron had seen it as betrayal. But damned if she wasn’t feeling _free_ of not having to argue with him, of not having to do his school work for him—practically.

And then there was Harry, stuck in between them. Which, speaking of the wizard, was revealing himself from under his invisibility cloak right in front of Hermione.

“Harry,” Hermione greeted.

“Hi,” Harry said, looking pale and guilty.

Hermione sighed. “Ron doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”

Harry gave a weak grin. “Is it that obvious?”

Hermione snorted and patted the space behind her. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Harry’s eyebrows went up. “...Okay,” he finally said.

“How’s Ron?”

Harry shrugged. “He. Well. He doesn’t like it. It’s bad enough that I’m one of the _champions_. For you to be _dating_ Fleur too?”

“Maybe he could stop _comparing_ himself and start acting better!” Hermione snapped.

Harry winced, and Hermione inwardly berated herself. She _knew_ how much Harry hated arguments between friends.

“And…” there was a hitch in Harry’s voice that made Hermione stare at him, but Harry was looking away.

“Yes?” Hermione prompted.

In a breath, Harry said, “And Ron still doesn’t _believe_ it. He doesn’t think Fleur—or _you_ —can be _lesbians_.”

Hermione pulled a face. “I think Fleur’s bisexual. She said she kind of fancied _Bill_. Said she liked long hair on men. And women.”

Harry squeaked. “ _Oh_? I mean—better not let Ron know _that_.”

“I have a half mind to force it on him _anyway_ ,” Hermione muttered darkly.

Harry let out a noisy breath. “So. Fleur’s _bisexual_.”

Hermione nodded.

“And you’re…?”

Hermione grimaced, cursing inwardly. What could she _say_?

“How did you know?” Harry said, more quietly. “If you told me you were going with one of the triwizard champions, I might have thought Viktor Krum. He reads books with you in the library.”

“But Fleur argues back about what we read,” Hermione admitted. “Fleur _discusses_ , and her friends too, and it feels a lot safer. And equal. I can’t even _mention_ house-elves without Ron—or you—dismissing me.”

“Oh. I’m—sorry.” Harry fiddled with his fingers, his expression going distant, his lips a little tight.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed at Harry’s uncharacteristic subdueness. “What’s on your mind?”

“Certain _prats_ ,” he muttered.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “Do you want to... _talk_ about it?”

“No,” Harry said shortly

“Have you found a date for the ball yet?”

Harry’s expression darkened. “Not yet. As _Malfoy_ keeps taunting me about.”

“Maybe you could just ask _him_. Regardless of his answer, I bet his _face_ would hilarious.”

Harry shivered. “Can we talk about something else?” he asked, desperation in his tone. “Like schoolwork?”

“Is that you _really_ want to talk about?” Hermione asked dubiously.

“It’s been weird with just Ron. He keeps going _on_ about Fleur...unless he’s talking about Quidditch and Krum. And you hang out with both Fleur _and_ Viktor.”

“He’s jealous,” Hermione said, smirking. “Serves him _right_. If he wasn’t such a _prat_ I might have even introduced him to Viktor.”

Harry grinned. “Should I tell him that?”

Hermione shrugged. “Your call.”

Harry hummed. “I kind of wish I could just take _Ron_ as a friend. That would be easier, right? But everyone would think we’re dating, and _Ron_ hates that. It’s bad enough, with the _Prophet_ rumours…” Harry’s shoulder’s drew up.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. She suspected that...She placed a hand on Harry’s arm. “Whatever you do, I’ll support you.”

“Thanks, Hermione,” Harry smiled, relaxing a touch. “And I hope it goes well with Fleur.”

Hermione’s stomach dropped. “Yeah. Thanks.” Now it was _Hermione’s_ turn to change the subject, and Harry didn’t change it back.

*

 **Fleur** felt as though something was missing...and she knew what it was. Hermione had returned to sitting with her friends at the Gryffindor table, having made up with them.

“ _You miss her_ ,” Amira smirked.

“ _How can I?_ ” Fleur responded archly. “ _She is right there. I am glad that she is no longer fighting with her friends._ ”

“Uh-huh,” Amira was unconvinced.

“ _Oh, how terrible!_ ” Alexandre swooned. “ _Our Fleur, jealous! Oh, how must it be to feel like one of us mere mortals?_ ”

“ _You better watch out_ ,” Marie said, glancing down the Ravenclaw table. “ _That Roger Davies may see this as an opportunity_.”

Fleur laughed. “ _He is harmless and kind. A mind worthy to speak to me._ ”

Amira snorted. “ _But not as good as Hermione,_ ” she said slyly.

“ _Oh, Hermione, what do you think of the dragons? What do you think of the fey? Have you read this book, Hermione?_ ” Alexandre mimicked.

Fleur kicked him under the table.

“ _She is even trying to learn French_ ,” Amira said.

“ _We should give you to some private time_ ,” Marie mused.

Fleur controlled herself. “ _I do not need your meddling_.”

Amira winked. “ _Do not worry about that, for the two are going on a private trip this weekend, are you not?_ ”

“ _To pick out robes_ ,” Fleur said sternly. “ _We are not going to elope_.”

“ _Did I mention anything about eloping?_ ” Amira smirked.

“ _Oh, shut up,_ ” Fleur grumbled. “ _You better not let my mother hear of this._ ” She glanced over to where Hermione sat. By chance, Hermione had been looking at her, and Fleur smiled reflexively, and was relieved when Hermione smiled back.

Alexandre gave a dramatic sigh. “ _Oh, young love_.”

“ _I am older than you_ ,” Fleur said primly, and pointedly continued to eat her dinner.

*

 **Hermione** forced herself to stay upright when the portkey spat her and Fleur out in some unknown square in some unknown country, all because Fleur wanted some _matching robes_ for the Yule ball.

It was certainly wasn’t England where they landed. It wasn’t even France as Hermione had suspected, but rather some other European country. Fleur took them straight to a single, narrow shop down one of the old streets.

It took just a moment for her eyes to adjust and see—There were _so many_ different dress robes, and even _suits_ and _tuxedos_ , and Hermione forced herself to only glance over them.

A witch introduced herself as Elena, and Hermione took half a step back and let her and Fleur chat away about what they needed.

“I was thinking these,” Fleur said, jolting Hermione’s attention, and pointing to a cluster of dress robes.

Hermione frowned automatically, not liking the lines and ruffles of it.

Fleur raised an eyebrow. “Or perhaps not. It is no use if you are not _comfortable_ in it. Perhaps…” She and Elena descended into a foreign language again, and Hermione was really suspicious when Elena suddenly clapped her hands with a smile.

“Just a moment,” Elena said. “I have the _perfect_ design. If you will put on these, I will transfigure a mock-up.”

Hermione nodded tersely, and went to put on the plain top, trousers and shoes in a separate dressing room.

Elena positioned them both in front of large mirror, and cast, the clothes morphing and changing into something _more_...

Hermione stared at herself in the mirror, with the blue-grey robes, the sweep of it, and the sharp lines and cut V of it down her chest with the stark white of shirt button up to her neck. And underneath, _trousers_ and _boots_.

Beside her, standing tall and with a smile on her face was Fleur, with a dark blue over-robe that flared out and revealed a lighter blue-grey set of robes beneath, its hem down to her feet.

“Good, _good_ ,” Elena smiled widely. She went and poked at them, modifying this and that. “Do you like this?”

Hermione nodded, still stunned. It felt so much more _correct_ than the periwinkle dress her parents had packed for her.

Elena stepped back, and nodded. “They will be ready for your ball, Miss Fleur and Miss Hermione,” she said.

“Charge it on my mother’s account,” Fleur said.

Elena cast some kind of copying spell, and the transfigured clothing returned back to their plain state. Hermione and Fleur changed back into their original clothing.

“We have time for lunch,” Fleur said as they left the shop. She smiled at Hermione. “You like them.”

“My parents thought a ball meant a dress—not dress robes,” Hermione confessed. “And aside from my school uniform, I don’t really know _how_ to wear a dress.”

“Those robes suit you,” Fleur smiled. “They will be even more wondrous once made. But now—” Fleur held out her hand. “We are to have lunch.”

“Yeah…” Hermione’s chest felt tight and hot and cold, and she took Fleur’s hand to let her lead.

While with Fleur, there wasn’t time for Hermione to think, buoyed and floating as she was with the rich conversation that _flowed_ between them over lunch, and with Fleur’s history lesson as they wandered around town—punctuated with Hermione’s own factual input which more than once descended into them contesting with increasingly random and nonsequitor facts and ended with them both laughing.

As the day wound down, Fleur took them to a tea shop.

“Did you know tea is the second most widely drank beverage, the first being water?” Hermione said.

“And not coffee?” Fleur laughed. “The drink of students and harried workers. About 75% of tea drank is black tea.” She peered at the different teas. “We are in Bulgaria, however, and it would not do to leave without some herbal tea.”

“I read that there are tea rituals—magic ones—in other countries.”

“Not in France,” Fleur said. “A shame, really.”

Hermione laughed. It wasn’t _funny_ per se, but being around Fleur made her feel light headed and everything Fleur said seemed amusing.

Fleur gave a quick smile and purchased two different teas, and handed one of them to Hermione. “A gift, for today.”

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. “Oh. You really didn’t have to.”

“But I _wanted_ to,” Fleur said firmly. She took out the portkey that was their way back home. “It has been a lovely day.”

Hermione nodded. “Yeah.” She took hold of the portkey, and wondered what would happen if she leaned in…

The portkey yanked them away.

“I will have the dress robes delivered to your bed when they arrive,” Fleur said.

“Thanks.” Any other words dried up in Hermione’s mouth.

Fleur dipped her head. “I will see you later?”

“Yeah.”

Fleur turned away first, leaving Hermione clutching her gifted tea to her chest.

 _All_ her thoughts rushed in at once, a jumble in her head.

If Fleur had been a boy, this would have looked a _lot_ like a date.

But. Hermione had been around Fleur long enough to realise the arbitrariness of it all and that—maybe this _was_ a date. Harry and Ron had certainly thought so. The entire _school_ —or _schools_ —had likely thought so.

Hermione rubbed her forehead. Nothing was logical. She and Fleur _weren’t_ dating. They were just going to the Yule Ball together.

And maybe Fleur was just _nice_ like that to all her friends. Hermione had heard a lot about her sister, Gabrielle, and how much Fleur doted on her.

None of these thoughts could calm Hermione’s heart, however. She had to face the truth. The truth that...

*

The night of the Yule ball came to quickly for Hermione’s liking. There was last-minute dancing practice with Fleur, and helping sort of things with Harry and Ron—who had decided to go as friends, since the only _partner-y_ thing they needed to do was the opening dance.

Hermione half wished Harry had just gone with Malfoy, because at least Malfoy knew how to _dance_ , and she could already see the disaster of the opening that was Harry and Ron trying to dance.

“Blimey,” Ron said, eyes wide when he saw Hermione descend down the stairs in her dress robes. “They’re so much better than mine.”

“I _offered_ to get you new dress robes,” Harry grouched, elbowing Ron. “You look great, Hermione.”

“Thanks,” she said. “Though Fleur would be better.”

“You’re _our_ Hermione,” Ron declared. “So you’re better.”

Hermione snorted and smiled. “Thanks, Ron.” The three of them headed down to the Great Hall, where Fleur was waiting.

Fleur had been right, the robes looked even better than their transfigured prototypes. Hermione could _see_ all the eyes being drawn to Fleur. Her own eyes included.

Fleur smiled. “Hermione. And Harry, Ron,” she greeted. “You look dashing, Hermione. I hope you are all ready to dance. Everyone will be watching.”

Harry and Ron paled.

“It’s not—” Ron started.

“I _hate_ dancing,” Harry said.

“Don’t worry,” Hermione said. “It’ll be over in a few minutes. Though, the _story_ might last our whole lives.”

Fleur chuckled. “Feel the music. Boys, you are both quidditch players, are you not? It is like flight, but to the tempo of sound. You must dance like a team works together on the field.”

Harry straightened, looking as determined as when he went to face the dragon of the first task. “Thanks, Fleur.”

“Champions, and their partners,” McGonagall said. “Let us begin.”

Hermione had just the time to give a quick nod to Viktor and his partner and to Cedric and Cho, before Fleur was sweeping her into the Great Hall.

And in those next few minutes, there was no thinking in Hermione’s head. Only the music, the dance, and Fleur leading her round and round.

Fleur felt so _close_. Even closer than their practice dances.

The dress robes made Hermione feel _powerful_. She felt _equal_ to Fleur, more than ever. She felt _herself_ , and when the dance ended, she was so grateful for Fleur leading her off to the side, to give Hermione a chance to catch and breath and get a hold of the heady feelings.

“Are you well?” Fleur asked, voice against her ear, in the backdrop of loud music and chatter.

Hermione shivered, and licked her lips, her heart thumping against her chest.

“Can we—go somewhere quiet? And _private_?”

Fleur raised an eyebrow. “Of course, if you do not mind the implications in others minds.”

Hermione gave half a laugh. _Implications!_

So Fleur took outside to the rose bushes, which was thankfully empty and much quieter.

“I liked that,” Hermione said. “It wasn’t _bad_.”

“I would hope not. I am a great dancer,” Fleur said archly.

“You said—well, that you wanted the dance with me to avoid all the boys. Then why _me_?” Hermione shook her head. “There are a lot prettier girls. Maybe even one of your friends—like Harry and Ron.”

Fleur gave a wry smile. “I was not thinking. Perhaps you made more of an impression on me than either of us thought. I didn't even ask if you are attracted to women.”

“I think I am,” Hermione said in a rush before she could overthink it further. “I thought I was straight—but you—I might be bi.”

Fleur’s smile turned lighter. “ _I_ made you realise?”

“Not just this,” Hermione admitted. “A lot of things. Do you—”

“Do I like you?” Fleur rolled her eyes. “My friends are telling me that I am _head-over-heels_ , even though I am not an acrobat!”

Hermione felt herself succumb to hysterical giggles. “We’re— _everyone_ thinks we’re dating for the last few months. But we haven’t _even_ —”

“Kissed?” Fleur pounced, drawing Hermione towards her.

“Kissed,” Hermione breathed. She tried to stay calm, tried to remember all the information she had learned about kissing. And then Fleur’s lips were on hers and all her preparation vanished.

 _Why hadn’t they done this earlier_?

Fleur hummed against her lips, withdrawing a little. “You know, I still owe you a trip to Paris. Perhaps in the summer. It is the most romantic city...if you ignore all the catacombs of the dead underneath.”

Hermione laughed breathlessly. “I would like that.”

 

 

 

_End._

 


End file.
